Scarlett's scream was piercing. Blood gushed from between her fingers, staining her white dress.
"My face! You bitch! You ruined my face?" she shrieked hysterically, her hair in disarray. "Get them! Kill them! I'll give every one of you fifty thousand dollars!"
I wanted to lunge at her again, but one of the thugs kicked me, his boot connecting squarely with the lye-seared wound. My insides felt like they were rupturing as I crashed into a nearby mannequin. The impact tore the wound wide open. My vision swam with black spots, and I almost passed out.
Felix lunged to protect me, but he was outnumbered and distracted. Another thug's knife bit deep into his arm. Blood sprayed out, soaking his shirt.
"Felix!" I screamed.
Scarlett clutched her face, pointed at us, and yelled, "Cripple them! Chop them up and throw them in Lake Michigan! My man is Jonas Owen! He can fix anything!"
Another knife bit deep into Felix's back. He grunted, dropping to one knee but still shielding me. The coppery scent of his blood filled the air as it splattered onto my skin. A thug swung an iron pipe, smashing it brutally against his head.
Felix collapsed on top of me, a dead weight. His blood blurred my vision, my cries mingling with the thugs' shouts.
"Felix! Wake up!" I sobbed, trying to shake him awake.
A thug kicked me hard in the back. I fell beside Felix, my consciousness slipping away.
When I woke up, I was in a shipping container at an abandoned dock. The summer sun beat down on the metal, turning the inside into a furnace.
My skin felt scorched, a hard crust of sweat and blood caked to my body. My limbs were bound with ropes, a rag stuffed in my mouth.
"Awake?" Scarlett loomed over me, her face swathed in gauze, only her venomous eyes visible. "Too bad I couldn't finish you at the shop. It just means you get to suffer a little longer."
I made a muffled sound, the rag in my mouth soaked with blood. In my peripheral vision, I saw Felix lying nearby, motionless, the blood on the ground already a dark, sticky brown.
"Felix!" I tried to scream, tears evaporating on my scorching cheeks as soon as they fell.
"Stop screaming. He's not quite dead yet, but he's close," Scarlett said, kicking Felix's leg as if it were a sack of garbage. "Jonas called. He's on his way to clean up this mess."
She squatted down, looking at me like I was an insect. "What do you think he'll do when he finds out you scarred my face? I bet he'll kill you with his own hands just to make me happy."
She waved to her men. They approached with several cans of gasoline, the pungent smell filling the air. "Jonas said to make it clean. Let me warm you two up, so the road to hell isn't too cold."
They poured gasoline around us, some of it splashing onto my ruined gown. The temperature inside the steel container soared, and the reek of gasoline choked me. I coughed violently, blood and bile rising in my throat. I struggled desperately, but the ropes only tightened, cutting into my wrists and drawing blood.
Just then, my phone, which had been knocked to the floor, rang. Jonas's name lit up the screen.
I glared at the phone, writhing to reach it. With my hands tied, I could only use my cheek to slide the screen, finally managing to press the answer button.
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him I was done, to demand he come save me. But the rag in my mouth turned my voice into a desperate whimper.
Scarlett noticed, her face contorting. "Who told you to answer that phone?"
She lunged to grab the phone, but I pressed it tightly to my chest. The heat from the evaporating gasoline washed over me. My body was severely dehydrated, and my eyelids grew heavy.
Only rage kept me going. Pushing the rag aside with my tongue, I finally rasped, "Jonas, you better pray we walk out of here alive. Because if we don't, you and Scarlett are going straight to hell."
